A year of violence toward Asians and Asian-Americans forced me to grieve, then act.
On a gray morning, just before the first lockdown, I bundled up and went on a brisk walk in Central Park. As my friend and I rounded a bend along the path where tourists ride horse-drawn carriages, a hipster-looking white guy breezed by on his skateboard. He looked me straight in the eye and, enunciating clearly, uttered one word — a racial slur so insidious it won’t appear in this essay.
Before I could even register what happened, …